That's How You Get Someone to Fix Your Car
by Mizuni-no-neko
Summary: Gregory and Christophe are stuck in the middle of the desert because their jeep broke down. M for lemon, pistol whipping and sniper shots abound.


This idea was given to me by a comment my lover made while I was stuck at a gas station because my sister's car wouldn't start. None of these events actually transpired, but I found the comment funny and promised her I'd write it. Well here you go, baby. Enjoy.

That's how you get someone to fix your car.

* * *

Christophe cursed and jumped out of the way as smoke and steam came billowing out from under the hood of the car just as he tried to open the hood. He growled and glared at the offending vehicle, willing it to run again. When it didn't he did the most mature and adult thing he could think of.

He hit it.

Gregory rolled his eyes and sat back in the seat, scanning the deserted road for any sign of someone to help them. Maybe a drive through the desert from Colorado to California hadn't been the best idea. Then again, he had thought a manly man like Mole would know how to fix the damn car.

"Mole, are you going to keep throwing a temper tantrum at the car or are you going to get it on the road again?" He called, mocking him with a sly smirk.

"Are you goeeng to shut your pussy mouz or am I goeeng to 'ave to do eet for you?" He growled, glaring harshly at Gregory, who ignored it and just chuckled.

Christophe glared for a few more second for good measure before opening the hood of the care fully and coughing against the fumes coming off of it. Truth be told, he was no mechanic and didn't have the slightest clue as to what was going on.

He reached out to touch the engine, but jerked his hand back when it burned him. Oh great, now the damn car was mocking him too! First his boyfriend, now the damn car!

And it was hot in the desert! The car was hot, the desert was hot…Gregory was hot, but that's an altogether different definition of the word. Funny how the English language works like that, huh?

Sweat started trickling down his skin, a combination of the mid-day heat and the steam coming from the car making him very uncomfortable. He growled and tugged his shirt over his head, tossing it into the jeep and returning to the front of the car.

Gregory smirked and licked his lips, sitting back to enjoy the view. Shirtless Christophe working on a car…mmmm. He looked absolutely delectable. Not one to sit back when there was something he wanted, Gregory leaned out of the window and called to Mole.

"Darling, it's much cooler in the car. If you stay out there you'll die of heat stroke."

Christophe was about to argue, but saw the sense in what Gregory was saying and hopped back in the jeep, only to be backed against the door the second he had closed it. He found himself with a lapful of blonde, his lips covered by softer, plusher ones.

He kissed back fervently, pulling Gregory closer to him as they shed their clothes desperately. He bent him over the armrest between the seats and thrust in, not bothering to prepare him because they had stopped for a quicky only an hour or so before.

"Christophe!" He gasped, throwing his head back and gripping the seat as the muscular Frenchman started pounding into him from behind. Soon he was sweating and panting, biting his lips to stifle the moans. Like hell he was going to let that bigheaded French idiot know how much it got to him.

But when Mole slammed his cock straight into Gregory's prostate, he couldn't help it. He cried out like a wanton whore and speared himself eagerly back on him. He could feel his release fast approaching and at the same time that his body strained for it, he secretly didn't want this to end.

His undoing came when Christophe wrapped a calloused hand around his sensitive shaft, pumping him slightly faster than he was pounding into his backside. He gave a choked cry of the mercenary's name and came on his hand and the seat. He moaned lowly as he felt Christophe's seed fill him, spasming around his lover's cock.

Christophe pulled out of Gregory and placed him back in his now cum covered seat, tossing him his clothes as he redressed himself. Gregory followed suit and soon they were back to where they'd been before, waiting for someone to come and help because Christophe was incompetent when it came to cars.

* * *

Three hours later a sports car came speeding down the highway much over the speed limit, not that either of the boys in the car cared much. Christophe jumped out of the jeep's window to flag them down, but the continued on without even slowing down. He growled and grabbed the sniper rifle out of the backseat and aimed. He smirked as their tire went flat and they had to stop or risk crashing.

He jogged up to the car and grabbed the frat boy by his collar just as he got out of the car to check what was wrong.

"Next time you weel zeenk before passeeng a car on ze side of ze road, non?" He smirked, hauling the man back to the jeep. "Feex eet or my next shot weel do more zan pop your tire."

"Dude! I don't know nothing about cars! I don't even know how to change a tire!" He wailed, trying to scrabble away.

"Deed I ask you eef you knew anyzeeng about cars!? No! I sadi FEEX EET!" He roared, throwing the man at the engine. He squeaked and looked around, trying to find something that was obviously wrong with an equally obvious answer as to how to fix it. When he couldn't he got to his knees and sobbed, begging Christophe not to hurt him.

"Shut up!" He growled, pistol whipping him across the face with the 9mm he had taken out to keep him in check.

"I dunno what's wrong, man! I dunno what's wrong!" He sobbed, his face already puffing up.

"Zen geet out of 'ere before I keel you." He growled, throwing the man into the dust and planting a firm kick on his ass.

The guy needed not further prompting and he sped off towards his car, driving it as fast as he could with the flat tire just to get away from the crazy Frenchman with a store of weapons.

The whole time Gregory had been groaning and sinking farther and farther into his seat, his face covered in his embarrassment. How could Christophe do this to him! He had a reputation to uphold and being seen with a man who was being beaten with a gun and threatened with a sniper rifle was not going to help any.

This was going to be a long day.

* * *

Help finally came around nightfall in the form of an old tow truck plodding down the desert highway. Gregory flagged it down, having confined a now surly and pouting Christophe to the car. He exchanged pleasantries with the man while he fixed up the problem well enough to get them into the next town where they would find a garage to do the real repairs. He thanked him and let the man get on his way before climbing into the car with a superior look on his face.

"And _that_, dear Christophe, is how you get someone to fix your car.

* * *

My one funnyish fic for awhile. All the rest I have planned are either going to be macabre or just plain weird.


End file.
